


Bringing Up Baphomet

by MoanDiary



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Abortion, Crack, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Gen, Humor, I'm here to chew bubblegum and torture Lucifer and I'm all out of bubblegum, Kid Fic, Pregnancy, this is not fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: Turns out, modern human family planning techniques may not be 100% effective against devil sperm and possible divine interference.Vignettes about the gestation and development of the little antichrist that could.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 28
Kudos: 155





	Bringing Up Baphomet

It’s almost funny how fast the color drains from Lucifer’s face. 

Chloe has been struggling with fits of near-hysteria since the fourth consecutive test confirmed what she’d been suspecting with increasing dread for the past few weeks, and the impulse to break into deranged, uncontrollable laughter surges anew at the poleaxed expression on his face.

“Are you sure?” he croaks, after a very long pause. Chloe nods grimly and displays the veritable bouquet of pregnancy tests, including the piece of paper she printed out of the official one based on bloodwork that her OB-GYN ordered. All point to the same conclusion: somehow, despite all their precautions, she’s gotten herself knocked up by Satan.

“I-I...I think I feel a bit faint.” Lucifer staggers over to his sofa and sits heavily, staring into the middle distance, brows furrowed in distress. “How could it—how could we possibly—”

Chloe sets down the tests on the bar and goes to sit down next to him, still feeling much like he looks, rubbing her forehead. “Tubal ligation isn’t 100% effective, I guess. My gynecologist said there was a 0.5% failure rate. And somehow, your—” She gestures vaguely at his crotch. “—Stuff managed to be compatible.”

“Considering my history—well—it just seems very unlikely, doesn’t it? And you’re sure there’s no chance it could be someone else’s? One-night stand with a handsome stranger, perhaps? Don’t look at me like that! You know I wouldn’t mind. Maybe you got it from using a public restroom, I’ve heard that’s possib—ow!” Chloe cuts him off with an ungentle punch to the shoulder, which he rubs, shooting her an aggrieved look.

“It’s yours. I just wanted to let you know before I have the pregnancy terminated,” she grits out.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he says in a relieved rush.

She looks at him, incredulous. “You thought I’d want to keep it?”

“Well, I know how fond you are of your existing urchin. And Dr. Linda certainly loves that clingy little nephilim she made with my brother beyond all reason. In my experience, you women are—”

“Be very careful how you end that sentence.”

“—Fully capable of making informed and rational decisions about their bodies.”

Chloe gives him a warning look but the itching desire to strangle him abates. She sighs. “Trixie is more than enough for me. And having a baby at my age...I’m not sure I have the energy to handle a toddler anymore. Plus I’d be on desk duty during the pregnancy and have to take time off work after. Not to mention you’re not exactly…” she trails off at the affronted look on Lucifer’s face.

“Not exactly _what_ , Detective?”

“You know…” she gestures vaguely. “Father material.”

Of course, he takes offense. “I don’t see what’s so difficult about it. If someone as slow-witted as Amenadiel can do it, I certainly can. And I can bloody well do a better job than my father, although that’s not difficult. I just have no interest in it,” he sniffs. “An even smaller, stickier-handed little cretin running around, demanding more of your time and attention? No, thank you.”

“Good, we’re on the same page,” she says curtly, feeling irritated nonetheless. Didn’t he even take the briefest moment to fantasize about what a child of theirs would be like? 

“And besides, all that nasty stretching and tearing?” he pulls a face and gestures towards her crotch. “It simply wouldn’t do to let you ruin the happiest place on Earth.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. Apparently not.

* * *

Her doctor tells her she’s only eight weeks along, so a medication abortion is the simplest option. Lucifer accompanies her to the clinic, chattering enthusiastically while they wait, and then even more cheerily on the ride home. Chloe reminds him she still has to take the second drug for the abortion to actually happen, but he seems relieved, regardless. She appreciates the distraction, but it can’t quite overpower her slight melancholy. Not regret about what she’s doing, but a wistfulness for future paths that will never be trod. 

If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s pampering her, so by the time she pops the second pill several hours later, he’s set her up with a comfortable collection of blankets and throw pillows on her couch, cooked her a delicious dinner, and settled in beside her to browse Netflix. At the clinic they warned she would likely experience cramping and bleeding, so she waits to feel something.

And waits.

And waits.

“Is it happening yet?” Lucifer asks anxiously, a few hours later.

“I’m not sure,” she replies.

They go to bed in uneasy silence.

* * *

“It didn’t work,” she reports grimly after returning from her check-up a week later. “I’m still pregnant.”

Lucifer huffs in frustration. “I knew it! Human chemicals are no match for a half-detective, half-devil spawn. Well, tell them to up the dose! We have to flush this little antichrist out!”

Chloe squints at him accusingly. “You told me Revelation was all ‘fanciful nonsense.’”

He squirms. “Well, I’ve been wrong before.”

She stares in blank horror, contemplating the prospect of _that_ for a long moment before shaking herself, boxing those thoughts away to panic over some other time. “The, uh, the next step is a surgical abortion.”

Lucifer quails a bit, eyes darting down to regard her abdomen worriedly.

“It’s totally safe,” Chloe says, trying to project a confidence that she doesn’t entirely feel. “Especially this early. Just a little uncomfortable.

“It’ll all be fine,” she says.

* * *

It is not, it turns out, fine.

She has a couple slight cramps after the procedure. At first, she’s relieved the side-effects aren’t worse, relieved to be free of the anxiety of the pregnancy, of the morning sickness that had recently begun in earnest. When she was pregnant with Trixie, things had gone pretty smoothly, but she was much older now, and who knew (other than Linda, maybe) what kind of impact carrying a half-angel, half-human hybrid had on the body. Lucifer seems relieved, too, laughing a bit too loudly at his own jokes and leaning in to his typical displays of affection, wining and dining her, and eventually dragging her down to Lux to dance a little before she insists they go to bed.

When she vomits the next day, she attributes it to partying a little too hard the night before. She is forty years old, after all. Her tolerance isn’t what it used to be.

When she vomits the day after that, she begins to worry. The doctor at the clinic told her there was no need to get another test to make sure the procedure succeeded. The procedure always succeeded, she insisted, even when Chloe pressed her.

Chloe buys another pregnancy test on her lunch break and uses it in the women’s restroom at the precinct. She must sound sufficiently upset when she calls her OB-GYN that the receptionist agrees to get her an appointment that afternoon.

“You,” she says tightly to Lucifer, who’s lounging at her desk with a bag of Combos. “Are coming with me.”

* * *

“It’s the damnedest thing,” her doctor says, looking at the results of the new set of labs she ordered and shaking her head. They’d spent the better part of two hours here already, talking through the steps Chloe had taken, listening to one side of the doctor’s increasingly baffled phone conversation with the clinic where she’d had both procedures done, and being subjected to a litany of tests and examinations.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Lucifer quips wanly, his hand sweaty in the death grip she has on it.

“The fetus is...I’m not quite sure how else to put this... _just too strong_. I’ve never heard of a modern surgical abortion failing like this. It’s like...it wasn’t even affected.” She seems genuinely baffled, and maybe a little frightened.

Chloe swallows. “We don’t want to have this baby.”

The doctor shakes her head. “At your age, with your tubal ligation, I wouldn’t advise another attempt at a surgical abortion. Maybe there’s some quirk of your anatomy that makes the procedure less effective...I just can’t imagine what...”

Lucifer breaks into an abrupt peal of hysterical laughter. “No quirk with _her,_ doctor! The quirk’s all mine! Or my bloody father’s! Because you know, you _know_ , He must be behind this. Half-miracle, half-devil superbaby? _Of course!_ Of course He would—”

Chloe stomps on his foot, hard, and his mouth snaps shut. “What do you recommend?” she asks, attempting to remain as calm as possible, at least on the surface.

“Carry the baby to term. If you’re not interested in parenting, we could easily find a couple willing to adopt. Especially with your, uh,” her eyes slip towards Lucifer as if drawn by a magnet. “Genes.”

Chloe’s forehead falls into her hand, and doesn’t leave it until they’re in the Corvette.

“We can’t saddle some random unwitting sods with a child of mine,” Lucifer says, staring a little blankly, his hands resting on the steering wheel of the still-parked car.

“I know,” she groans, feeling nauseous again. It’s a coin toss whether it’s morning sickness or anxiety this time. “I can’t believe I’m gonna have to raise the antichrist.”

Then she proceeds to lose her lunch all over the vintage leather interior.


End file.
